


Kintsukuroi

by kelios, thorkiship18



Category: Supernatural, Wincest - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Croatoan, First Time Wincest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 12:56:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12190395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelios/pseuds/kelios, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorkiship18/pseuds/thorkiship18
Summary: Sam's infected with the Croatoan virus, and Dean breaks as he does.





	Kintsukuroi

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thorkiship18](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorkiship18/gifts).



> This was a collaboration with the adorable @thorkiships, who wrote the first section up until Sam and Dean's first kiss based on my twitter request. You can find it here: The Art of Breaking https://archiveofourown.org/works/12165678
> 
> Kintsukuroi is the Japanese art of repairing items, particularly pottery, with gold filling rather than discarding them. The end result is often more beautiful than the original vessel.

Dean pats Sam's cheek gently, angrily holding back the tears that he knows will eventually fall regardless of what he wants. Sam's infected by the same virus that's gotten all those other people killed. He doesn't wanna lose his Sammy, not his baby brother, not the reason he fights every single fucking day. They've been doing this as long as they remember, but Dean's afraid that it'll end just as they get to their prime.

So many things need saying, but Dean's more pissed off that Sam is accepting his death. No. They don't get to _quit._

_Dad taught us better than that,_ Dean thinks, _I taught_ you _better than that._

"I'm _not_ losing you," Dean says fiercely. "We have to fight it. Find a cure."

Sam shakes his head. "The only cure is a bullet to the head. I'm ready."

 _Why? Why are you so comfortable with this, Sam?_ Dean thinks furiously. The idea that Sam might _want_ to die is worse than dying himself. 

"I'm not killing you now, Sammy. You can’t ask me to do that."

"You won't have a choice..."

"I sure as Hell do," Dean replies fiercely. "I won’t leave you here alone, Sam. If we can’t find a way to save you..."

"You'll put everyone at risk."

"I don't give a fuck. All I care about is you. Just hold on...okay? For a little bit longer."

"Dean." The way Sam says his name reminds Dean of when they were younger, when Sam was lanky, all legs and arms and just growing into the tall man he is today. Sammy was beautiful back then--Hell, he still is, and Dean has never not been able to see it. Dean watches him closely, taking note of every little change in Sam. The not so brotherly feelings he’s tried to suppress are resurfacing again. Damn this boy. "You fight so hard for me. Why do you always do that?"

"It's my job," Dean answers simply, without thought. "I take care of you. Always. Anything you need or want, I'll give it to you. Somehow."

"I want something."

 _Yes, Sammy. Anything._ Dean knows better than to say those words out loud, but he can’t help thinking them.

"Something I can take with me."

 _Anything you want, Baby Boy._ Dean wishes he dared call Sam that now, the way he had when they were younger. It was what their mother had called Sam before she died, and it had felt natural falling from Dean’s lips as well.

"I want you...to kiss me. Will you kiss me?"

Dean stumbles back a step, shocked. He can't believe what he just heard. Sam--his wonderful, smart, innocent brother--is asking for a kiss? And not one of those half-assed peck on the cheek kisses either. Dean can see it in his worried eyes, afraid of rejection even now. Sam wants a _kiss_. Lips on lips, mouth to mouth. It takes everything within Dean to not give in immediately, to throw himself into Sam’s arms and simply _take_ , because this is what he's been denying himself of for years.

But Dean is nothing if not stubborn.

"You don't know what you're asking."

_He does know. Dean knows he does, can see it in his eyes and the stubborn set of his lips, and that’s the most terrifying part of this._

"I'm not confused, De...and I know you probably think I'm disgusting, but I don't care--"

 _So smart, and so dumb, Sammy,_ Dean thinks numbly. _You can see everything but_ that. 

"You're not disgusting, Sammy. I just--God, you're just so fucking beautiful, and you don't even know it.” Dean paces, agitated, looking everywhere but at Sam as the words pour out of him. “I've tried convincing myself that what I felt for you was nothing, that you and I would never work, that you'd push me away. I watched you grow up, I raised you. I asked myself 'How can you look at him like that and call yourself his brother?'" Dean stops abruptly, realizing that he’s been babbling incoherently. Sam’s just watching him, bemused, and Dean feels his heart crack again. “Don’t you remember the rules, Sammy? No chick flick moments, but you managed to drag one out of me anyway.”

It’s a lame attempt to throw some humor into his sudden confession and Sam sees right through the charade, just like he always does. Dean sighs, closes his eyes against the softness in Sam’s expression. He doesn't want Sam to see him like this, laid bare and vulnerable--he’s _never_ wanted Sam to see him like this. He feels naked under his brother's silent scrutiny, far more so than if Sam had actually stripped him down. 

"I love you, Dean." It's quiet, nearly a whisper, but Dean hears it anyway. His head snaps up, looking at Sam with wide eyes. "More than I should. I always have. I was just so afraid--"

“Sam. Sammy.” Dean can hear the truth in Sam’s voice, can’t deny that his brother wants this as much as he does. He takes a deep breath and steps closer, takes Sam's face in his hands. Sam feels soft and warm, and Dean refuses to think that this might be the last time that’s true. Sam inhales sharply at Dean’s touch, his lashes fluttering down as his lips part on a soft sigh, the most beautiful sight Dean has ever seen. Dean drinks it in, thumbs sweeping over Sam’s cheeks, catching a tear before it can run too far. 

And then he kisses him. Gentle, at first. Almost chaste. Dean wants to savor the moment--the plush softness of Sam’s lips, slightly chapped and rough in the middle. The way Sam’s lips give under his as he presses harder, begging to be let in, the faint taste of iron from a tiny split that Dean didn’t even know was there. Sam opens for him immediately, and Dean kisses him deeply, passionately. Like a lover, like the lover he wishes he had time to be. Losing Sam now, when they’re finally discovering themselves, is heartbreaking in a way Dean had never imagined possible. He moans into the kiss and Sam echoes the sound, taking it from Dean’s lips and making it his, taking the _kiss_ and making it his. Sam shifts, slotting their lips together more firmly, licking into Dean’s mouth and sucking on Dean’s lips, sinking his teeth into Dean’s lower lip and tugging gently. He licks away the sting before pulling back just far enough to lean his forehead against Dean’s, and Dean tries to subtly catch his breath, a lost cause when he realizes he’s pressed full length against Sam’s body and that he can feel Sam’s cock hard and hot against his hip. It drives every thought from his head, leaves him weak-kneed and babbling again like a lovestruck teenager, the words ghosting over Sam’s lips, breathed in and kept like a treasure. 

"I love you so much, Sam. I've loved you since you were 14. I think about you--about us together--every single second, and I don't want you to go, you can’t go--"

There's water running down his face from somewhere, he doesn’t know how or why. When did he start crying?

"I can't fucking live without you! We belong in that car, driving around, killing monsters. I need you, man. I can’t do this on my own."

His voice breaks and he falls into Sam's arms, soaking Sam’s shirt with his tears. Sam draws Dean closer to him, whispering soft reassurances in his ear, and it would be funny if it weren’t so pathetic, if he weren’t acting like _he’s_ the one who needs reassurance instead of Sam. Dean used to do the exact same thing when they were kids. Sam would get scared and cry, Dean would be there in a flash, comforting him. Now Sam is comforting him, holding him tight and stroking his hair. It’s wrong, and it’s right, it’s exactly what Dean needs. And it’s going to be taken away from him forever.

For once, he's afraid of what the future may hold. 

Dean doesn’t know how long they stay like that, wrapped up in each other, taking comfort from each other’s nearness, but it’s a shock when the door handle rattles. Dean stiffens and pulls away from Sam as the doctor knocks frantically on the glass. He doesn’t look at Sam as he grips the gun in his waistband and cautiously opens the door. 

“They’re gone,” she says in confusion when Dean lets her in. “Everyone, all the bodies, every single person in town. They’re just...gone.”

Time seems to stand still as the doctor and the sargeant and that kid that Dean still kinda wants to plug every time he looks at him all take turns telling their stories. Then the doc wants to check over Sam, and it turns out he’s fine, there’s nothing wrong with him, and Dean’s world goes cold and grey around him. He sees Sam absorb the shock of her words, sees how they rock him, and a hot flash of terror runs through Dean because it’s true, it was all _true_. Sam was ready to die, he’d _accepted_ he was going to die. 

What if he regrets everything? What if he’d just been humoring Dean, what if it was nothing more than a perverse whim brought on by the virus? Dean’s halfway to grabbing one of their duffles off the table and just running when Sam’s hand lands on his shoulder. 

“We should get out of here,” Sam murmurs, and even though his voice is calm and easy there’s an underlying tension thrumming through him that Dean doesn’t know how to read. “Come on.”

All Dean can do is wave and stammer as Sam drags him out the door and over to the Impala, his head and his heart full of broken shards of hope. Neither of them speak as Dean starts the car and points them _away_ , wanting to put as much distance between them and the place that Sammy almost died as he can. Sam stares out the window, watching the world slide past the way he’s done for years, giving Dean plenty of time to watch him, to feast his eyes on the rise and fall of Sam’s chest, the slow blink of his eyes, faint throb of blood rushing just under the skin of his throat. _Not dead_ , Dean marvels, and he’s never believed in God but now he thinks he might. 

They’ve been driving for hours before Sam stirs, the stillness that Dean has never possessed or understood breaking like glass around them as he speaks. “Can we stop for a while, De?” he asks, and the childhood nickname echoes between them. 

“‘Course,” Dean says immediately. The shoulder is wide and grassy, plenty of room to pull off, and Dean can see the glint of blue water not too far away. He kills the engine and Sam smiles at him while opening the door, tentative and hopeful, ambling slowly toward the lake as Dean frees himself and hurries to catch up. 

Sam’s long legs get him to the edge of the water before Dean. He’s leaning against the wooden fence keeping passersby from the water, staring out into the distance. Dean takes up his customary place, almost but not quite touching, basking in the warmth Sam throws off like a furnace. For a long moment, Sam doesn’t speak, and Dean has time to wonder if maybe they’d died after all, and this was heaven. 

“I don’t regret it,” Sam says abruptly, finally. He’s still not looking at Dean, resolutely staring at the horizon, and it dawns on Dean that Sam is _afraid_. Afraid of what Dean will do, afraid of what Dean will say, afraid that Dean will leave. “I’m not sorry, I had to, I couldn’t leave without--”

“Sammy.” It rolls sweetly off Dean’s tongue, his favorite word, his favorite prayer. “I don’t either.”

Sam’s serenity shatters, and it’s his turn to collapse against Dean, muffle his sobs against the soft leather of Dean’s jacket. Dean strokes his hair, amazed as always that someone so big, so larger than life can fit so perfectly in his arms. Sam’s hands grip and twist, hold on as though Dean is the only thing keeping him from drowning in his own tears. 

“Shh,” Dean soothes, settled in his skin now that everything is right with the world again. This is a role he knows how to play, big brother and protector, even when the danger is himself. Eventually Sam’s tears taper off, but Dean doesn’t let him go, doesn’t push him away as he might have done in the past, worried that Sam would find his willingness to hold on odd. “You know...I’ve never been to the Grand Canyon.”

The non-sequitor startles Sam into meeting his eyes. “What?” 

“We’ve criss-crossed this country I don’t know how many times, and I’ve never been there. Not once.” 

“Dean, what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about a vacation, Sammy. A little ‘we time’. Something we’ve never done before.” Sam’s standing straighter now, still touching Dean but not in his arms, staring at his brother like he’s lost his mind. Dean isn’t surprised--he feels the same way. “Why does it always got to be us, you know? Why can’t we take a break? Let someone else carry the load for a little while?”

“Dean, what about the thing that killed Mom? And Jessica?” Dean likes the confusion in Sam’s voice, because it means that Sam is listening, really hearing him. “What about the Yellow-Eyed Demon’s plans for me?”

That gives Dean pause. The silence stretches out between them, and Dean goes for it, says what he’s been thinking for longer than Sam has been back with him. “We’ll find them. Eventually. Sammy, there’s always going to be another evil thing to kill. There’s always going to be another monster. The thing that killed Mom? That demon? They’re all going to be there when we get back, and I’m tired. I’m tired of fighting, I’m tired of carrying this burden on my own.”

“Burden?” Sam’s voice cracks slightly, and Dean knows what he’s thinking. He takes a deep breath. 

“This fight,” he says simply. “What we do. It’s good work, it’s necessary, but I’ve been doing it since I was four years old, Sam. And...Dad gave me one last job to do, before he died.”

Sam’s eyes narrow in hurt. “You told me he didn’t say anything,” he accuses. “Did you lie to me?”

“Yes.” Dean says it as calmly as he can, reaching out to Sam when he turns away, refusing to be shaken off. “I lied because I didn’t know how to deal with it. I lied because it was bullshit. I lied because I will never hurt you, Sam. Never.”

“What...what did he tell you?” Sam asks hollowly. “What did he say about me?”

“That you might go darkside,” Dean admits reluctantly. “He said I might have to kill you. He said I might have to kill you, but I will never do that, Sammy. Never.”

Sam stares at him, appalled. “Dean--”

“Never, Sammy.” Dean puts every ounce of certainty he possesses into his voice. “I’m done blindly following orders. _I know you._ I’m not afraid of you. And I will do whatever I have to in order to keep you safe from that yellow-eyed freak.” He steps back into Sam’s space, brings his hand up to Sam’s cheek in a gesture that already feels familiar and loved. 

“Right now we’re both on edge, we’re both running on fumes and adrenaline. Let me take care of you, Sammy. Let me take care of both of us. Then we’ll come back to this fight with a vengeance, and those assholes will never know what hit them.”

“You really think we can do that?” Sam asks, his voice small but hopeful. “You really think we can win this?”

“I think we’re going to win or die trying, Sammy,” Dean promises, and he means it. “And I don’t plan on dying anytime soon. Not when I’ve got so much to live for.”

That gets a smile out of Sam, a real one, soft and sweet. He pulls Dean toward him, then stops to look down at him anxiously. “Is this okay?”  
Dean nods, trying not to give away how desperately he wants this. “We’re good, Sammy,” he says, tilting his face up, and that’s all the invitation Sam needs. 

Their lips meet, and it’s just as good as the first time. Better, even--still desperate, still needy, still hot, but the fear and sorrow that colored their first kiss is washed away by the wonder they both feel. Sam holds Dean’s face in his hands, turns him this way and that, swallowing the tiny, embarrassing sounds that Dean can’t help but will deny forever. Dean’s hands make a home for themselves on Sam’s hips, sliding up under the his shirt and settling on warm smooth skin. Sam shivers at the touch, soft groaning sigh slipping into Dean’s mouth, setting his blood on fire with how much he needs _more_. 

Finally Sam lifts his head to look down at Dean, eyes glazed with want, breath short and quick. “We should get out of here,” he murmurs between quick kisses dropped all over Dean’s face. “I don’t want to get arrested for indecent exposure.” 

Dean’s cock jerks at the thought of someone seeing them, right out here in the open, and Sam laughs, dark and hot. “You like that idea? Me fucking you right here on the side of the road where anyone can see?”

“Jesus, Sammy,” Dean groans, and Sam grins. He turns them so that Dean’s back is against the fence, rails digging into his thighs and lower back as he kisses Dean again. It’s hungry this time, demanding, his thigh slipping between Dean’s to nudge against his dick. Dean moans at the sudden pressure, his hips surging against Sam and fuck, he’s going to come in his jeans like a fucking virgin if Sam keeps this up--

“Come for me, Dean,” Sam whispers fiercely, “come on, right here where anyone can see us, let me see you--” and that’s it, Dean’s gone, Sam latched onto the tender skin of his throat, sucking hot blood to the surface in rhythm with the waves of pleasure sweeping through him. Dean’s knees buckle and Sam catches him, kisses him again and again until the aftershocks fade and his legs mostly work again. 

“God _damn_ ,” Dean sighs happily, slumping against the wooden fence and turning a pleasure drunk smile on his little brother. Sam’s watching him, lips parted, eyes wide but falling closed when he ruts against Dean’s hip with a low moan. The sound and feel of him snaps Dean out of his post orgasm bliss and leaves him slightly embarrassed that he’d completely ignored Sam’s needs. Sam dips his head for another kiss as he grinds against Dean, but Dean ducks away. Sam freezes in confusion as Dean pushes him back gently, just enough to fall to his knees. 

“Dean?” Sam asks shakily, and Dean’s feeling a little shaky too, in over his head but suddenly desperate to give Sam this. He fumbles with Sam’s belt and jeans, mouth watering at the thought of tasting him, and inhales Sam’s scent greedily, musky and sharp with want. He’s thought about this so many times, doesn’t realize he’s saying it out loud until Sam laughs a little and mutters _you too?_ Dean looks up at him and licks his lips, already full and kiss swollen, now slick and spit shined. Sam swallows visibly, dazed, and Dean feels himself settle more fully into his skin. He can do this. He can take care of Sam, give him what he needs, and enjoy the hell out of it, too. 

A faint noise pings Dean’s senses, growing louder as he leans forward to rub his face against the thin damp cloth between him and Sam’s skin, suck the precome soaking the waistband of Sam’s boxers. The sound resolves itself into a car’s engine as he works Sam through the slit in the front and licks his way from root to tip with a hungry moan, hands locked on Sam’s hips to hold them both steady. 

“Dean, please,” Sam begs, palming the back of Dean’s head. He doesn’t try to push Dean forward, but his eyes are wild. “Please,” he says again, pleading, “someone could come by any minute, please--” and Dean can’t argue with that logic. He’s wanted this for too long to let some soccer mom and her brood take it away. 

It’s been a long time since Dean’s done this, and never because he wanted to. But he doesn’t hesitate, wrapping his lips around the wide, wet head and suckling. The taste of Sam, tangy and salty, bursts over his tongue as Sam’s hips jerk against his control, the head of his dick bumping against the roof of Dean’s mouth and flooding his mouth with saliva. “Oh fuck oh fuck--Dean--” Sam pants, both hands restless in Dean’s short hair now. Dean stares up at him, tears welling up in his eyes, then he deliberately pulls his hands from Sam’s body. He relaxes his jaw, his throat, and hums with pleasure as he sees Sam get what he’s offering. 

“God--Dean--your mouth--Jesus--” Sam pushes in, slowly at first then harder as Dean doesn’t react except to flutter his eyes and breathe deeply through his nose when he can. Sam’s hands tighten as he thrusts, pushing until Dean’s nose is buried against the soft fuzz of Sam’s treasure trail, until he’s as deep inside Dean as he can get. Dean swallows, fighting his gag reflex, and Sam swears brokenly above him. 

“Gonna come, Dean,” Sam gasps raggedly. His fingers clench spasmodically, loosening enough to let Dean pull away if he needs to, but Dean just nuzzles in closer with a pleased moan. _“Fuck,”_ Sam pants, and Dean feels him grow impossibly harder, thicker as he comes, the first hot splashes coating his throat as he does his best to swallow everything Sam has for him. He pulls back slightly as Sam folds over him, lets the last few spurts land on his tongue. The taste is just bitter and salty as Dean remembers, but this time it’s perfect because it’s _Sam_. Sam slips from Dean’s mouth with a low groan, falls to his knees in front of Dean and kisses him, sucking the taste of them both from Dean’s tongue until there’s nothing left but Dean, pure and clean. 

By the time they finally break apart, Dean’s lips feel used and raw. Sam runs his thumb over Dean’s lower lip lightly, worshipfully. 

“I love you,” he whispers. A lot of people have said that to Dean in the afterglow, and none of them have ever meant shit until now. 

“No chick flick moments, bitch,” Dean says, ducking his head as his cheeks warm, willing Sam to hear what he can’t say out loud. The fucked out rasp of his abused throat sends a shiver up Dean’s spine, and he swallows hard just to feel the scratchy soreness in his throat. He tucks Sam back into his jeans, lingering on the soft skin and imagining what they’re going to do later. 

“Jerk.” Sam catches Dean’s hand, brings it to his lips to suck away the traces of come and spit as Dean watches, rapt. When he’s done Sam laughs joyfully, happier than Dean has seen him in years. “Let’s get out of here, yeah? We’ve got a long way to go before we get to the Grand Canyon.”


End file.
